


A Few Seconds Longer

by Twice_before_Friday



Series: October? No, I think you mean Whumptober [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Abduction, Gen, Rescue, Restraints, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday
Summary: Prompt No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIMEWaking Up Restrained| Shackled | HangingConsciousness slams into him like a freight train, his body jerking at the suddenness of light and thought and sound, heart racing and beating so hard against his ribs that it actually hurts.He remembers running. Being chased. Hearing the footsteps closing behind him. And then...nothing.
Series: October? No, I think you mean Whumptober [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947595
Comments: 21
Kudos: 69
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	A Few Seconds Longer

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time participating in a month long challenge! I'm keeping my fingers crossed to hit all 31 days.
> 
> Let's do this!

Consciousness slams into him like a freight train, his body jerking at the suddenness of light and thought and sound, heart racing and beating so hard against his ribs that it actually hurts.

He remembers running. Being chased. Hearing the footsteps closing behind him. And then...nothing.

The pervading ache that's spreading out through the back of his head gives him a pretty good idea of what happened, though. Their killer is a bat-wielding psychopath with a tendency to beat his victims so badly that they're unidentifiable. Malcolm is willing to bet that the back of his head was introduced to the murder weapon responsible for nine deaths.

And counting.

Malcolm's honestly surprised he's not already dead. He'd profiled that the killer was devolving, not only shortening the time between kills but also spending less time with each of his victims. According to Edrisa, the murders had become increasingly more violent (and therefore the killer's fun ended more quickly) with each body that showed up, discarded next to various dumpsters around the city.

So the fact that Malcolm is even alive is a shock. When he was running, it was with the knowledge that, if the killer caught him, he would be brutally bludgeoned to death. Instead, he's on his stomach on a black and white checkered linoleum floor that he doesn't recognize, with no recollection of how he came to be there. His arms are yanked painfully behind him, tied together and then bound to his ankles, which are pulled up to rest just above his butt.

He almost laughs as he realizes that being hogtied at the mercy of a serial killer is not even his most pressing issue at the moment. The way he's restrained — tied so tight that his chest and knees are off the floor, shoulders pulled back hard enough to be dangerously close to dislocating — has made it impossible to suck in a full breath, and he's already feeling lightheaded and tingly as his blood is depleted of the oxygen he so desperately needs.

He's going to suffocate.

He tries to call for help but lacks the oxygen to push the words out with any force and his heart sinks as they wilt away before they've even passed his lips.

It's enough, though, to draw the killer's attention.

He's angled to face the doorway of the kitchenette he's found himself in, perfectly situated to watch as a man in heavy workboots comes in, a maplewood Rawlings bat hanging casually at his side. Even in the shitty lighting from the flickering fluorescent bulb on the ceiling, Malcolm can make out the blood stains on the wood.

"Oh good, you're up," the man rasps as he makes his way into the room. The way his muscles flex and tense beneath his tight t-shirt tells Malcolm exactly what's about to happen and he braces himself as much as he can, eyes squeezing tight against the pain that he knows is coming. "It's so much better when they're awake."

The bat comes down hard on his arms and he hears the snap of bone before he even feels the impact. Pain spikes through his body, so all consuming that he can't even pinpoint which bone just broke.

The scream that rips from his lungs is cut short as he runs out of air, but it doesn't stop the tears that stream down his cheeks, blurring his vision as he waits for the next hit. Instead, the killer plants a boot on Malcolm's shoulder and kicks him over so he's on his side, fire crackling through his nerves as his newly broken bone shifts at the pull of the rope.

When the bat swings down the second time, it crashes into his ribs with a dull thud and a sickening crack, stealing the last of his breath away.

"You shouldn't have come alone, cop," the killer sneers as he raises the bat above his head in a two handed grip, and Malcolm offers a silent goodbye to his family and the team who have become something akin to friends over the last few months.

But then the ringing echo of a gunshot bounces through the small space, jarring Malcolm so badly that it takes a second to realize the killer has crumpled to the floor next to him with a gaping hole in his head. JT's voice floats through the room, cutting through the panic that's taking over his body and mind at not being able to breathe.

"He didn't come alone, asshole."

JT rushes into the room and drops to his knees beside Malcolm's twisted body, performing a quick scan to triage Malcolm's injuries for severity. It takes almost no time for him to realize that Malcolm can't breathe.

"Shit. Hang on, bro," JT mutters and pushes to his feet, moving immediately to the drawers next to Malcolm. He jerks them open and slams them closed one at a time until he finds a large butcher's knife and kneels down behind Malcolm to start sawing at the ropes that are binding him.

He cuts through the rope connecting Malcolm's wrists to his ankles first, releasing the tension on his strained body. The change in position and the jostling of his broken bones is torture, but Malcolm doesn't even care.

He can breathe again.

He curls up, bringing his knees to his chest as JT continues to work the rope around his wrists. He sucks in one deep breath after another, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs with each inhale and exhale, thankful to still be alive.

"You're late." Malcolm's voice is tight with pain as he gets his breathing evened out as best he can, tugging his injured arm close to his chest with a groan as soon as the ropes are cut.

JT huffs an unamused laugh as he watches the pain contort Malcolm face. "And you shouldn't just take off on your own after a suspect," he warns as he moves to Malcolm's ankles, eyeing the rope there and pursing his lips. "Ambulance is coming. You gonna let them look you over, or should I keep you tied up so you can't take off, Mr. 'I'm Fine?'"

Malcolm hurts too much to argue and knows he needs to have at least one bone reset. As much as he hates it, he's going to have to make that hospital trip.

JT must read the resignation on Malcolm's face because he cuts through the ropes around his ankles without another word and then very, very carefully helps Malcolm to his feet.

"Thanks," Malcolm says quietly, knowing without a doubt that he'd be dead right now if it wasn't for the unwavering detective.

JT merely nods his acknowledgement, never one for displays of affection or emotion, but Malcolm can tell by the way he keeps a gentle hand on Malcolm's back as they make their way from the building that JT is just as glad as Malcolm is that he made it in time.

"I owe you one...Jameison Theodore?" Malcolm grunts around the pain that spikes with every step, jostling his fractured ribs.

JT rolls his eyes, muttering, "I shoulda taken a few seconds longer."

Malcolm smirks, knowing they're good. Knowing they're ready to face another day. Knowing, for the first time in his career with law enforcement, that he finally has a true partner.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to KateSamantha for catching my ridiculous spelling errors. Lol!


End file.
